


as though nothing could fall

by Anonymous



Series: anon's starker fics [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, just pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I guess I’m glad we’re on the same page, but I just—no matter how I think about it, I’m not ready yet for the world to know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. And if it comes out that Peter Parker is dating Tony Stark, the world is definitely going to start looking intoeverythingabout me. I mean, and that’s fair, because how on earth is a kid from Queens going to get to dateIron-Man?”Tony had gone to kiss to the top of Peter’s head, but barely a second later Peter was shooting up to a sitting position. “Tony, I have either the best idea in the world or the worst.”Quick follow-on scene to "as if even now".
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: anon's starker fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710439
Comments: 7
Kudos: 131
Collections: Anonymous





	as though nothing could fall

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I had a bad day, so I wrote some fluff. The work title is from Heroes, by David Bowie, for reasons.

Tony swallows, his mouth suddenly dry and his fingers desperate for a machine to tear into to stop the racing in his mind.

It’s not that the assembled reporters have made him nervous—he’s decades past being bothered by reporters—or that the fight with the Doombots was particularly difficult—he and Peter had it handled before Rhodey could even get suited up and out to the city, leading to a complaint about having to turn around halfway through his trip. 

This was Peter’s idea, he tells himself, pasting a press-ready grin on his face as the reporters swarm closer, barking out first questions about the Doombots, which he handles calmly (if flippantly) before they get to the real meat of what they’d like to talk about. 

He and Peter and Pepper had sat down and talked it out, calmly, rationally, like adults—a new experience for Tony. Agent May had been hanging around the kitchen with Sam Wilson, both of them pretending like they weren’t there to play mediator if things went poorly, but, amazingly, they hadn’t. They’d discussed living arrangements—Georgia for Pepper, New York for Tony and Peter—and Morgan—weeks in Georgia with Pepper, weekends with Tony and Peter, at least until summer, when they could alternate more freely—and then the big question. It was the inverse of colloquially popping the big one, and Tony couldn’t think of anything more ironic than the fact that deciding to ask Pepper to marry him had been an impulse decision brought on by nothing more than the fact that he had a press conference arranged and Peter had turned him down, and the question of their divorce was talked over and through and under and upside down until Tony knew every facet of every argument. Pepper made it clear she’d do whatever the group thought was best, but, Pep, always a smart PR girl, pointed out that keeping up the charade of a marriage gave Tony (and by extension Peter) cover, time to figure themselves out without the creeping inquiries of the press. Peter had said he understood, but Tony had been able to see something go dull in the kid’s eyes at that. He’d felt the same lurking coldness in his gut. It made sense, but something about it didn’t feel right. He wanted to give Peter everything he was capable of giving, no strings, no illusions, no facades. 

So he’d said divorce, and now the papers were filed and the split, being amicable, was final, and here’s Tony, standing on the corner of the street three blocks from Madison Square Garden, kicking a Doombot and hoping Peter’s certain. Because as soon as the divorce was announced, the press had been a nightmare, all speculation over what Tony must have done for Pepper to leave, practically salivating over the expected return of his salacious playboy days, already rumoring which barely legal model or heiress they’d see on his arm next, and Tony could see the way it affected Peter. No matter how much time Tony spent showering him with affection, breakfast in bed and gifts and lazy weekends where they just got to _touch_ , for as long as they needed, it hurt Peter to go get coffee with his friends and see The Daily Bugle’s headlines screaming about Tony’s impending bachelorhood. He’d admitted as much to Tony, finally, late one night when they were both on the couch in the lab, when heated kisses had, instead of escalating, devolved into soft, exploratory ones, lazy and loving, no pressure of a next step, just enjoyment of each other, of finally having each other. 

“It’s not that I don’t—I know that you love me, Tony, and I know it’s all stupid press stuff, but—I just want people to _know_ , you know? That you’re mine. I know it’s possessive, and silly, and immature—”

Tony had shushed Peter with a kiss. “None of the above, kid. Maybe a tad possessive, but I don’t have any room to talk on that one.” 

Peter had just sighed, collapsing to rest his head on Tony’s chest at that. “I guess I’m glad we’re on the same page, but I just—no matter how I think about it, I’m not ready yet for the world to know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. And if it comes out that Peter Parker is dating Tony Stark, the world is definitely going to start looking into _everything_ about me. I mean, and that’s fair, because how on earth is a kid from Queens going to get to date _Iron-Man_?” 

Tony had gone to kiss to the top of Peter’s head, but barely a second later Peter was shooting up to a sitting position. “Tony, I have either the best idea in the world or the worst.” 

Tony’s reminiscing is cut short as he finally gets the question he’s been waiting for. 

“So, Mr. Stark, now that your divorce is final, how do you feel about going back to being America’s most eligible bachelor? Any plans for your new bachelorhood?” The question comes from a put-together looking man, only Tony’s trained eye noticing the just slightly too much hair product, slightly too ostentatious suit that the man wears like he’s uncomfortable in it but wants everyone around him to think is his standard. Tony hears FRIDAY’s input in his earpiece—Matthew Clark, fresh out of UPenn, reporter at one of those men’s magazines that print paleo recipes next to cheap pick up artist techniques and one good music review and call it journalism. 

Tony grins—perfect. 

“Well, Mr. Clark, that’s a great question. You know, speaking of bachelorhood…” He pauses, watching as the assembled reporters crowd in closer, waiting for Tony to continue. 

He keeps pausing. 

Clears his throat. “ _Speaking of bachelorhood_ ,” he says again, slightly louder, and a few seconds later there’s a loud clang as a webbed-up Doombot drops to the asphalt next to him, followed by a panting Peter, in full Iron Spider suit. 

“Sorry, sorry, we missed one!” Peter says, standing up and nudging the Doombot behind him with one foot, cringing at the way the reporters are scrambling over each other to scoot back. “Uh, hi, I’m—uh—I’m Spider-Man.” 

Tony almost wishes he still had the helmet up, if only because he knows that the rapid-fire clicks of the cameras are certainly catching the dopey-eyed look of affection on his face—he’s seen it in pictures before, ones Pep and Rhodey have taken and showed him, knows to associate with the warm, sparkly sensation, better than the best champagne, in his gut that only Peter seems to be able to bring out in him. 

He doesn’t realize he’s hesitating until he glances over and sees Peter give him a nod—small, subtle, but undeniable—and then he’s turning back to the crowd. 

“You guys probably already know this guy—Spider-Man. You know, or, if you don’t, you should know, that he’s been around for a while, keeping this city safe. You might even know that he took a… leave of absence,” Tony’s voice goes thin, only finding strength when he glances to the side to see Peter giving him a thumbs up behind his back, “during the Blip.” 

“What you guys don’t know is that Spider-Man was in space with me, fighting to save the universe, before the Blip. What you don’t know is that he was in the fight afterward, too, saving the world again. What you don’t know is that Spider-Man saved my life, during that fight. You don’t know that I wouldn’t be here today without him. You don’t know that, despite the fact that I’ve been doing this hero thing for a few years longer than him, he’s the one who taught me what being a hero really means. You don’t know that, for a lot of people, when they think of a hero they think of Iron Man, but when I think of a hero, a real hero, I can only picture him.” 

Tony’s fighting not to get choked up, so he doesn’t register that Peter’s moved closer, is reaching out for him, until he’s turning to take Peter’s hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because it is, and the whispers of the reporters are escalating, into a clamorous rustling that seems to fade away as he pulls Peter closer, reaches down to pull the cowl up just enough to show the bottom of Peter’s face, lips he’d know anywhere, over years and across galaxies. 

“So, yeah, speaking of bachelorhood—fuck bachelorhood,” he says, and then pulls Peter against him, kissing him slow and soft and trying to pour every ounce of love and pride into it. He can hear the journalists gasping, sound level beginning to rise as they try to push closer, yell out questions, but he’s lost in Peter, and he can feel the kid against him, pushing closer, so—well, he’d planned to at least answer a couple of follow-up questions, and Pep will be mad, but he pulls away just long enough to say, “Gotta jet,” to the gaping crowd, and then take off with Peter in his arms.

*

It’s only 10am the next morning, and Tony already wants a drink. He’d tried to stay away, but found it impossible—impulse control has never been his strong suit—so he’s got a screen up in the living room, watching the talking heads screaming, all of them about them, so, by extension, about Peter.

“Our next guest is here to discuss the ethics of superheroes dating—” “Spider-Man hasn’t even signed the Sokovia Accords, and yet—” “—don’t even know who he is, and we’re expected to—” “—mean, how do we know they wouldn’t risk civilian lives to save each other? Why should we—” “—against God’s wishes, alien invasions are a punishment for our sins—” “—Stark Industries stock dropping sharply after Tony Stark’s surprise announcement—” “—discuss what this split means for the Stark-Potts partnership that has served Stark Industries for years—” “—Stark senile? How do we know what injuries he sustained during the battles?—” “—listen, Meredith, I just think if you have a kid, you can’t be selfish like that—” 

The noise stops, and Tony looks behind him to see Peter standing there, remote in hand, arms crossed and frowning. 

“That stuff’ll rot your brain, Tony.” 

Tony huffs a little laugh, but the amusement fades quickly as his brain goes back to replaying all of the things he’d heard. 

“I just—did we do the right thing? I never wanted any of _that_ for you.” 

Peter sighs, and comes around the couch to sit next to Tony, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder and pulling out his phone. 

“Tony—it was my call. I knew what I was getting into. And besides, it’s not my fault you’re only watching the old man media.” 

Tony opens his mouth to retort, but then Peter’s got Tumblr open, scrolling through and showing him—photos of the two of them, at the press conference and before, even from the ferry fiasco years ago, filled with ecstatic comments and hearts, a long post from someone who said they’d never come out to their parents because they thought their dad would think being gay meant being weak and effeminate until Iron Man showed you could love other men and be strong, other posts from all over the world, about seeing and feeling seen, about being inspired by their story, and Tony doesn’t even realize he’s taken the phone from Peter until he notices it’s shaking a little bit in his hands. 

Peter plants a soft kiss on his cheek. “C’mon, there’s one more thing I think you should see.” 

He pulls Tony off the couch, shrugs on an oversized hoodie and a baseball cap and throws the same to Tony. Tony follows, because it’s Peter, and because he loves him, until they’re around the corner from the tower, looking at the side of a building, with tourists crowded around taking pictures on the sidewalk across the street from it. Tony knows the place, knows that it used to be the site of one of the murals of Iron Man that had sprung up after the battle upstate against Thanos, when it got out what Tony had done, had nearly sacrificed, to save them all. 

Now, Iron Man is still on the mural, but Spider-Man is there too, and instead of Tony looking out at the world, he’s looking at Spider-Man as if he’s his whole world. Somehow the artist has managed to capture that exact starry-eyed look Tony knows he always gets around Peter, has managed to capture the devotion and strength in the way that Peter rests his hand on the back of Tony’s neck, the curve of his gentle smile with half the cowl pulled up. And the words of thanks that used to be there are are gone. Instead, there are tags of all different colors and styles underneath it—“love is love”, “New York’s finest”, “from Stonewall to Stark Tower”—and, right at the top, in big, block letters—“we could be heroes”. 

He squeezes Peter’s hand tightly, turns to him, and finds Peter already there, ballcap turned around and leaning up to meet him in a kiss, soft and hopeful and new, like spring in the tired old winter of Tony’s heart, against the backdrop of the mural.

That’s the picture that makes the front page of the Saturday New York Times.


End file.
